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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734396">Heartbroken</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity'>stateofintegrity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:01:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As disease sweeps the 4077th and leads to high fevers, confessions abound. (alludes to the episode "Follies of the Living - Concerns of the Dead."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heartbroken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He almost chuckled, but the energy to do so would have had to come from </span>
  <em>
    <span>somewhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>; at this point, he felt certain his body was consuming itself just to have calories to keep basic functions in operation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had thought that residency was exhausting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Boston, he had left hours long surgical sessions with sweat slicking his clothes to his body and honestly thought he had truly exerted himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this… it was a new </span>
  <em>
    <span>universe</span>
  </em>
  <span> of tired weakness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Typhus had swept the three MASH units in their sector, killing men freshly operated on and incapacitating personnel from the brass to the LIPs who took in washing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the war ground on. Trucks rattled out of the mountains freighted with bodies; choppers flew in broken men lashed to blood-stained supports that dripped browning blood onto the hard-packed earth. And where there were bodies to mend, there must be corpsmen, nurses, and surgeons to mend them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Houlihan fell ill. Potter followed. Radar and BJ succumbed next. Ill unto collapsing, Hawk and Charles soldiered on side by side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the army now, eh, Chuckles?” Hawk joked from behind his mask. “Serving above and beyond the limits of total exhaustion.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re slap happy, Pierce,” Charles said dryly. “And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>envy</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The deluge abated after 68 hours. Charles leaned on someone and was led to a cot. After so long on his feet, the room spun as he lay down. He groaned at the nausea of it, trying to remember when he’d eaten. A week ago? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something cool moved over his brow, his throat. His neck, shoulders, underarms and torso came next. His eyes fluttered. An ever-costumed Maxwell Klinger was bathing the sweat and grime from skin that actually hurt. He was so tired that every cell of him was rioting, flashing pain signals. “Max?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just sleep, Major. Trying to get your fever down is all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles had forgotten about the fever. He and Pierce had been the last to succumb - but the disease hadn’t overlooked them, despite the blood of so many sons smeared on their hands and gowns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... should sleep, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.” But he had other chores first - removing the man’s bloody shoes and washing them out (the socks would have to be burned) then changing his clothes. He did this kind of thing (and held weak soldiers over bed pans) in OR daily, so he was efficient and professional. If there was a touch more care in his touches as he tried to make the tall, ill, exhausted surgeon comfortable as he could, well, there was no one around to see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honest, hours-long exhaustion did strange things, Klinger had learned, to the human body. And while Charles’ body desperately needed sleep, his mind remained wakeful, wandering a labyrinth of old pain. Scrounging up more covers - the man was fevered, still - Klinger wrapped him up to try to ease his restlessness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When that failed, he sat down beside the bed and took one of Charles’s hands in both of his, drew it to him, and folded his body over it, offering all he had and was for comfort. He even held that fevered appendage to his lips (dried out because he hadn’t been eating or sleeping either except for the on-the-go offerings he’d made for the surgeons and fifteen minutes where he’d passed out in a pile of clean towels he’d gone to fold) and nuzzled against its softness. Charles’ skin still smelled like talc from the gloves he’d operated in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles trembled, murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Major, go to sleep,” Klinger urged at a whisper. “It’s done with. It’s okay. They sent aid from Tokyo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles opened his unusual eyes; the sclera was threaded through with red. “Max?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, sir. You’re sick is all. Try to sleep so you can get better.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles looked at their joined hands and his eyes widened; he almost looked panicked. Klinger disentangled himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, please,” Charles said, closing his eyes. “If it’s too late and you know, then you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delirium, Klinger figured, but he gathered his hand anyway. “Go back to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctors made the worst patients; everyone knew it. So, Klinger wasn’t really surprised when his favorite doctor failed to listen. “Do you know why I became a thoracic surgeon, Max?” His eyes were closed again; his lips barely moved as he spoke. Klinger could feel the impossible heat of him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That fever is really roaring. If he’s gonna insist on staying awake, maybe I can get some aspirin in him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles tried to swat at him with his free hand but the gesture fell short. “You cannot hold my hand and call me ‘sir,’” he protested. “I have a name. It is a terrible one in the sense that I share it with terrible men, however…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger just wanted him to be quiet. “How bout Major baby then?” he teased (mostly). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles saluted him for this (a shaky but recognizable gesture). “What were we discussing Corporal ‘darling’?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You getting some very needed sleep.” He was blushing and all because of a word Charles neither meant nor knew he was saying. He never blushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Surgery. Hearts, yes,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger placed a hand over his dry lips. “You did enough surgery over the last few days to last a decade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles licked his hand, making him yelp. “What was that!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wished to continue speaking. You were an impediment.” He chuckled, the sound congested. “Honey-vine taught me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Never let him know that </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>I know </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>that he calls her that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Klinger silently vowed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Never never never.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he pulled some lip gloss out of his pocket. Rubbing it onto a finger (Charles had </span>
  <em>
    <span>licked</span>
  </em>
  <span> him so it now felt like something he could dare) he smoothed it across that ever-moving mouth with its spine-shivering accent (Klinger would have paid actual cash money to hear the man say “fuck”; and it probably would have left him on his knees).</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Vanilla?” asked the surgeon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And white plum, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Classy as ever, Corporal darling. If I survive, I will get you plum wine someday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t owe me anything, Major. You’ve taken care of me before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a technical sense, only. Max, I do not know if I am capable of truly taking care of anyone…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Delirious again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Max retrieved new water, dumping the old outside the tent, and wiped his brow again. “Go to sleep, Charles.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You found out somehow. You are a canny, clever little thing so it shouldn’t surprise me…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Clever, huh?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Usually Charles was comparing his intelligence to that of small mammals… or plants, the occasional small rock...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I’m smart, Major?” It was taking advantage maybe, but he never got a compliment in this place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to my endearment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Careful, Major baby. I’ll call you every endearment there is if you want me to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Sorry, baby,” he teased to hide these thoughts. “You startled me is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you did when I arrived here with your… your silly rhinestone glasses and your supple legs flashing under that long winter skirt…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The heavy one? The A-line?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Spruce blue - like trees along the ocean. Wool I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Find out. Touch it. Please. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw snow glittering on the fuzzy threads my first winter here and I could not stop watching. You need a new coat though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t know you paid attention, Major baby.” Hell, the man had gone and </span>
  <em>
    <span>earned</span>
  </em>
  <span> the endearment now. Charles </span>
  <em>
    <span>watching</span>
  </em>
  <span> his costume changes? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Remembering</span>
  </em>
  <span> his outfits (their accessorizing so complicated that he had created a folder of what amounted to paper doll versions of his wardrobe just to keep it all straight)!? What a thrill! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand if you do not wish me too. I am… I am deeply flawed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Just really fevered.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it is true,” he protested. “My heart… it is not like the hearts of other men. My father said so. Showed me a picture once, an X-ray… told me to excise the ugly parts like the hunter in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Snow White</span>
  </em>
  <span> putting the heart of a deer in a box… I became the best heart surgeon I knew how to be… but the twisted parts remain there, under my ribs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No no no no no no no no, no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thought Max. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hardly knew he was doing it, but he lifted himself and settled lightly (never letting go of the hand he held) to curl up on Charles’ chest. He flattened his palm over his heart. “Your heart is perfect,” he whispered fiercely, tears in his eyes. “And when you leave this ugly place, you go be whatever kind of surgeon you want, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Charles had sunk back into fevered dreams. Though he knew he ought to, Klinger did not get down. Instead, he held on and pressed his ear to the strong, regular heartbeat of this noble, broken man he loved. What kind of father could scorn so beautiful and bright and talented a son? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least he now got where Charles’ sharp edges and cruel streak came from. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve never known anything else. I could show you… but I don’t think you’d let me. But, oh, I wish you would! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles murmured and tossed fitfully. Klinger held tighter still. He couldn’t change the man’s past, but maybe some of the love he felt would get through and ease old hurts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was better. He knew this because the world felt especially bright and loud - and because the fever had left in the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My, my, seems like when the rats are away the Chuckles will play,” BJ joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles believed firmly that loud voices and jokes before noon were distinct markers of the lower classes. He opened his eyes to tell both of his tent mates to have pity for the actively dying - and looked right into the dark, sleepy gaze of Maxwell Q. Klinger… who promptly looked terrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Help</span>
  </em>
  <span> those eyes said. So, Charles (feeling somehow very knightly about it all too) did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gentlemen,” his voice was a bit froggy from disuse and illness but the annoyance came through. “The Corporal,” he narrowly avoided “the darling Corporal;” the fever had left some cobwebs apparently, “was making sure my 104 degree temperature did not reach 105. That is all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They couldn’t see that Klinger was awake from their vantage point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like to take temperatures from that position, too,” Hawkeye returned, leering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles chucked a book at him. “The Corporal was exhausted. And you know perfectly well he is like a cat and can sleep anywhere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he closed his eyes, signalling that he was quite done with this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can </span>
  <em>
    <span>say </span>
  </em>
  <span>whatever he wants,” BJ said as the rats headed for the mess, “but ten bucks says he doesn’t read the kid the riot act when he comes to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they were gone. “You shoulda done what BJ said,” Klinger told him. “If you had yelled at me, they’d tease </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you that I can handle their excuse for wit. Yelling at you would be a most ungentlemanly response to the care you took of me last night. I was quite out of my head with exhaustion and fever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You were adorable, Major. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“No problem, sir. How’s your heart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles’ brow crinkled. “My heart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t remember a thing you said last night do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Was it very ridiculous?” His eyes were wide and abashed as he hoped it had not been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Didn’t make a whole lot of sense really,” Klinger lied (although, really, how much sense did Toledo blue collar and Boston nobility make?) getting nimbly to his feet with no dents to anyone’s dignity in the process. “You need to keep resting though. You want anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had the strangest craving for a vanilla fig milkshake… no vanilla plum - but that wasn’t happening. “No. But thank you,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Corporal darling</span>
  </em>
  <span> - it echoed in his mind again, just beneath the words. Well, hadn’t he always thought Klinger a veritable doll? And hadn’t such thoughts been reinforced by his kindness and the fact that he fit in his arms? He could think the man darling if he wished. “You should rest too,” he reminded the young man. “You worked as hard as any of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. You were a plenty comfortable kitten perch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he walked away Charles thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>Corporal … my pretty pet? </span>
  </em>
  <span>and whimpered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look pretty down at the mouth, Klinger. Gimbels' catalogue late?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clerk shook off the storm clouds building about his temples. “ ‘m fine, Captain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lying </span>
  <em>
    <span>Corporal</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Hawk returned, teasing him with the rank neither one of them put much stock in. “This have anything to do with a certain blue-blood Major you were using as a mattress the other day?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger, Hawk was delighted to see, blushed beautifully beneath his dark skin. But he stared at his work to try to hide it before venturing, “Hey, Captain, say you found out something bad happened to someone and you wanted to help them feel better. But they might get real mad if you tried. What would you do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d pick a new cause, Klinger. Charles… I don’t know if he can unbend enough to be anybody’s friend. You’re just gonna get hurt, kid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was. Maybe he was going to get hurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>badly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But if pain was in the offing, Max really believed it would be better if it was dealt by a man with a voice like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> (when Charles called his given name it had five As in it, more than any report card he’d ever brought home) and who paid attention to his clothes; such a man was probably well worth the pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Klinger could try to help the man he’d fallen for, he fell terribly ill himself, plagued by a kidney problem that mystified his caretakers and that left him wandering in and out of delirium as his fever raged, a near match for the one that Charles had endured under his capable care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter had the boy placed in the clerk’s office (they weren’t sure if he was contagious) but his absence was felt; Charles saw Potter flinch when he called for a corpsman and Max didn’t appear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then BJ made a crack about Klinger’s Lebanese heritage and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Charles </span>
  </em>
  <span>flinched, thinking how many similar cracks </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>had made… but at least Max had been conscious and able to defend himself! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, in Post Op, Charles overheard a patient dictating a letter on the death of a friend. If something became of Max, who would write the boy’s mother? Potter, he supposed, but ought it not to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>my </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>friend, after all, Maxwell. And I would have you be so much more if I could will it so … if I had more than a flawed heart to offer you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In his delirium, Klinger asked, “How would you feel if you just lost your best friend?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It chased all the blood from the Major’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To stop seeing Maxwell’s eyes - brightened by fever - he joined the Swamp Rats in several drinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can still feel it,” Hawk said as BJ attached a surgical clamp to his arm. Sustained sensation was the sign to keep drinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can still feel it, too, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charles thought. But his </span>
  <em>
    <span>it </span>
  </em>
  <span>was Klinger’s slender, be-skirted frame resting atop him, warm and wonderful and all he wished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Potter summoned his best thoracic surgeon to keep an eye on his ailing clerk. Klinger’s problems ought to have terminated, but his fever only climbed. And, being Klinger, he was loquacious even in ill-health, talking up a storm in English and Arabic and making little sense… except for a name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems it’s you he’s got something to say to, Major,” Potter told him, giving him his new post. “Maybe, if he hears you, he’ll rest a little easier.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles sat at the man’s bedside. Pierce, Potter, Hunnicutt… they’d all examined him. Max looked smaller than usual, dressed in soft blue pajamas that were gender appropriate; Charles wondered what he’d think of that. Running a cloth under cool water, he smoothed it over a fevered brow, echoing the gesture Max had made for him during his illness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, Weston? I told you it was just seeing stuff. Doctors don’t do all that stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles wondered if Potter had misheard. “Winchester, Max. Not Weston. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> doctor would appreciate your cooperation in getting well. You are much too warm, my dear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Max continued to converse with someone that Charles could not see. “He just </span>
  <em>
    <span>seems</span>
  </em>
  <span> that way. Like… what do you call ‘em? Those big pieces of ice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glaciers?” Charles supplied, thinking that, fevered as Max was, the arctic might sound like a tempting vacation spot to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glaciers. But he has a warm heart. You can see it in his eyes. You know what color they are? Me neither. ‘S why I ask. Maybe somebody knows. I want fabric that color but I can’t order it if I don’t know what it is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can sew nothing if you will not </span>
  <em>
    <span>heal</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Charles told him. “A feat that might prove easier if you stayed quiet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Weston. I gotta tell him when I see him. He’ll probably get mad and try not to let me talk, but maybe I can say it real fast. He thinks he’s broken, you know? Thinks his heart’s broken. But it’s not. People just taught ‘im real bad things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles grew very still. He remembered Max asking after his heart. He remembered saying - confessing, really - the terrible things his family had taught him to believe. He’d thought it a dream but Max, it seemed, had overheard. Now, sicker than Charles had ever seen him, maybe sicker than he’d ever been, in a horrible place, away from his family, Max was worried </span>
  <em>
    <span>about him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he didn’t have the words to tell the Corporal that his heart was fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t even know how to shape his lips around the lie. He never had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tear slipped over Klinger’s cheek, warmed as it traveled; Charles heard its kindred in his voice. “I know ‘m not supposed to, Weston, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> those people. I don’t care how fancy they are. They never should’ve hurt him. If they didn’t want him, my family woulda taken him. I’d take him.” He blinked lashes heavy with tears. “He wouldn’t want that though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles smoothed back dark, soft hair. “Darling, please hush. You are quite breaking my heart.” He had never heard the Corporal sound so sad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weston!! You’re not even listening! I told you his heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>broken. If you go saying it, too, he won’t believe me.” He tried to rise. “I gotta tell him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winchester easily held him in place. “You may tell whatever you wish to whomever you desire the moment your temperature drops below 100, Max. Stay still.” Then, in an effort to pacify the delirious creature, he offered, “Tell me. I will write it down and deliver your message.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, it seemed the mere promise might be enough; Klinger seemed to slip into fevered dreams. But he was just gathering his thoughts. “You’re a real pal, Weston,” he said then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To whom shall I address this pressing missive?” Charles asked. Finding writing materials was, at least, easy, given their location. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did a mine go off while you were out there and mess up your hearing? The guy we’ve been talking about. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Major</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” There was only one Major, Charles realized then, whose title sounded like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Max’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Major Charles Emerson Winchester III proceeded, then, to write a love letter… to himself. As he wrote, he remembered the feel of Klinger’s skirts brushing over him, lingering even after the Corporal had stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maxwell had been truly well for three days when the Major came to him complaining that he could not sleep. “It seems that I have become accustomed to drifting off while stroking your hair, Corporal darling. Deprived of this, I find myself deprived, too, of proper rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Klinger’s mouth fall open was very satisfying, especially when Charles began to imagine claiming it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger tried to find safety in teasing, though his voice shook. “I don’t know what to tell you, Major.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I am welcome in your arms, I suspect. You told me as much once already.” That was when he produced the letter and how Klinger learned what he had said.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t… you don’t…” But he did admit what he had learned as the Major’s nurse, apologized for overhearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles hushed him with a touch. “I do. I have for quite some time. This is not pity, you silly, shivering thing, but something rarer and grander. Something I thought my heart too flawed to hold anyone… until you looked on it and found it beautiful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a real good heart, baby. Not to tell you your work or anything, but there’s nothing broken in you.” His dark eyes were very bright, his voice very sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In this, Max, yours is the only opinion that concerns me. Will you have me, flawed and foolish heart and all?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max would - and he lived to protect the heart under his care, always. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>End! </span>
</p>
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